Silent Hill: Heiress to an Execution
by mineangel
Summary: Laura is now eighteen years old and is happily living with James Sunderland in a town far enough away from Silent Hill. But when something happens and James's past resurfaces, Laura must go back to Silent Hill to uncover the truths left behind.
1. Chapter 1: The Prognosis

Silent Hill

Heiress to an Execution

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NOR DID I CREATE SILENT HILL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. SILENT HILL BELONGS TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS KONAMI TEAM AND I AM JUST BORROWING THEIR IDEAS FOR MY OWN GUILTY

PLEASURES.

Chapter One

Laura and James sat at the kitchen table late one night, sipping hot cocoa from yellow ceramic mugs. A radio on the counter blared ACDC. Laura sang along to the tune as she tossed mini marshmallows across the table into James's mug. A little cocoa splashed here and there, creating sticky pools of brown liquid on the table's surface. James merely laughed at her antics, his good humor having returned quickly ages ago. Laura laughed, too, and their laughter drowned out the music. Neither of them could have cared less, sitting there laughing like two Mad Hatter's in the dead of the night.

They had become the best of friends. Notwithstanding their undeniable closeness, however, Laura remained unaware of what had happened to James in Silent Hill all those years ago. He refused to talk about it, even to her, but it was clearly evident that he had been left scarred by his last trip. Laura had her fond, if not dislocated, memories of Silent Hill, but having been only a few days shy of eight years old at the time the two of them had been present in the town, she hadn't understood his anguish, his odd questions, and the haunted look in his eyes. She hadn't understood _him_. And she hadn't understood his reasons behind putting his own wife's life to a quicker end. For the given revelation told to her ten years ago in a handsome hotel suit overlooking the beautiful Toluca Lake in Silent Hill, she had said some hurtful things to him, things that he may have deserved to hear but were nonetheless hurtful. He had taken her best friend, her only friend, so she dented his heart purposefully, as any eight-year-old would do. But despite her utter lack of understanding, she had grown to love James like her very own father. He had seemed to grow himself, to love her like his own daughter, and for that she loved him even more. She had forgiven him and there were no hard feelings. She only wished that she could have enjoyed life with James and Mary both, and was sorry that it couldn't happen. The three of them together would have been very happy, or so Laura believed.

James shoved his cocoa aside as a yawn struggled to overpower him. He was defeated in the end. "Guess it's time for me to hit the sack," he said, standing up and stretching. He pushed his chair underneath the table and moved to pick up his mug.

"Don't worry 'bout it," Laura said, taking another sip of her cocoa. She had noticed the dark bags underneath his eyes, a sign that he hadn't been sleeping well. She owed it to him to be considerate. "I'll clean up. I'm not really tired yet, anyway."

"Sure, Lo. Thanks," he said. He left the kitchen in a hurry, only to return just seconds later to add, exhausted, "Don't stay up too late."

"Okay."

"'Night, hon."

"Goodnight."

And Laura was left alone in the kitchen. She dug her Camel's out of her jeans' back pocket and lit one up, cursing high school as she smoked, for it was there she had picked up the nasty habit. One cigarette did the trick, however. She was finally relaxed to a point where sleep would come easily, courtesy of hot cocoa and the notorious Turkish and domestic blend of Camel Lights.

She stood and collected both mugs from the table and crossed the polished linoleum to place them in the sink. She emptied her own and refilled it with ice water. She drank until the mug was empty, washed it out and then put it to sleep in its cabinet. She left the other sitting in the sink

Bloated with cocoa and water, she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Upon passing James's room on the way, she noticed that his lights were still on. She opened the door without knocking, causing James, who was seated at his computer routinely checking his email before turning it, to recoil and nearly fall from his spinning chair.

Laura stifled a laugh. "Sorry," she managed. "I was just checking in."

"That's okay," James replied, turning away from the monitor. "Did you clean up?"

"Yeah. So I'm going to bed, now. See you in the morning."

"See you then."

Laura smiled and left the room. She went straight to her own room and closed the door behind her. She flicked on the lamp beside her bed and undressed. She pulled out a pair of old cheerleading shorts, black, and a simple white tank from her dresser of drawers and put them on. The smell of laundry detergent and Febreeze filled her nostrils as she settled into bed a few seconds later. She closed her eyes, listening to the still silence of the big house for two. It felt awkward still, using the same room that Mary had once kept her art in, had once let her imagination flow in. It was so easy to think of her. Laura could smell her sometimes, could hear her voice. She wondered often how somebody she had only known a week could have such an impact on her life. She had called Mary her best friend, though there had been a substantial difference in age. But Mary had been so _nice_. And her memory had greedily stayed with Laura, a sort of voice of reason, a guide. She was usually the last person Laura thought of before falling asleep at night. What would she be doing now? Would she be asleep? Would she be watching the Late Night News? Sewing? Painting? Fixing a late night snack? Probably none of those things, but Laura would never know. It wasn't fair, how she would never know. She still hated James sometimes…

_Laura was on the edges of sleep. She slipped and fell over into a bottomless abyss, a cacophony of memories, white lights, blurring images. Things she had done that day. Cocoa. A radio. She reached out, grabbed onto something cold, like metal. It was a bowling ball rack. She was in Pete's Bowl-O-Rama. An eagerness swelled inside her like a Helium balloon. Eddie Dombrowski sat in front of her, getting messy with a large pizza pie._

"_So what'd you do? Robbery, murder?" Laura asked him, clasping her hands together. The smell of the pizza was enough to make her stomach growl._

"_Nah, nothing like that," Eddie answered, but that was all he said. _

"_I thought you said the cops were after you."_

"_No," Eddie shook his head, swallowing a large bite. "I just ran 'cause I was scared. I don't know what the cops are doing."_

_Laura was baffled. "But if you did something bad, why don't you just say you were sorry?" she asked, and then thought better of her dumb question. "Well, I guess I run away a lots, too."_

"_Did you know that he killed me?" Eddie asked, and before Laura could press the conversation any further, as that was not how she had remembered it, the bowling allies dissolved. Eddie disappeared. She now stood outside a large set of double doors in a seemingly endless hallway._

"_Open the door, Laura," came James's voice from the other side. A juvenile anger welled up inside of Laura. She hit the door with both fists._

"_Why should I?" she demanded. "I'm a liar, right?"_

_She fell to her knees as the door in front of her melted to reveal a restaurant setting. It was the restaurant from the hotel. James stood before her, his hands nestled inside of his pockets. Laura tried to apologize for locking him inside of that room but she couldn't. She could only ask the obvious. _

"_You're here to find Mary, aren't you James?" she asked. "Well, have you?"_

"_No," James replied. "Is that why you're here, too?"_

"_She's hear, isn't she?" Laura became excited. "If you know where she is, tell me! I'm tired of walking."_

_And then the restaurant vanished, replaced by that unforgettable hotel suit from the second floor. Laura stood. James sat sulking in an armchair next to her, his face in his hands. She was confused by his sudden anguish._

"_Mary's gone. She's dead," he told Laura. She balled her fists, gritted her teeth. What a thing to say! The area behind her eyelids began to ache._

"_Liar!" she called him. "That's a lie!"_

"_No, that's not true…" James replied. Laura unballed her fists and her face fell. The ache behind her eyelids remained. It persisted. It grew._

"_She…she died cause she was sick?" she asked._

"_No," James shook his head. Now his face fell. "I killed her."_

_Laura froze. It couldn't be true. Mary's beloved James couldn't possibly have…no, she had always said such nice things about him…now Laura realized that she had been right to dislike him all along._

"_You killer!" she yelled at James, who did nothing but stir slightly. "Why'd you do it?! I hate you! I want her back! Give her back to me!" Laura threw the tantrum of an eight-year-old child, only days fresh of her birthday. Now she had nobody to share it with. She reached out and shoved James's left shoulder as hard as she could. "I knew it! You didn't care about her! I hate you, James!" She shoved him several more times. "I hate you! I hate you!! She was always waiting for you…Why…why…?"_

Laura sat up, back in her own bed, eighteen again. Her sheets were damp with sweat. Her heart was hammering in her chest so her breathing was labored. According to the digital clock on the nightstand, it was 1:28 in the morning. She had accidentally left the lamp on. She reached over and turned it off, which a few minutes later proved quite unnecessary. She was wide awake and unwilling to lie down again.

Her mouth was as dry as the Sahara. Perhaps if she went down to the kitchen for a glass of water she could return to bed again. She turned her lamp back on.

The lamp provided enough light for her to make her way across the room to the dresser. Now shivering, she took a sweatshirt from the middle drawer and pulled it over her cropped blonde locks.

She opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the upstairs hallway, pulling the door shut soundlessly behind her. The wooden floors were frigid against her bare feet. She wished she owned some decent slippers.

The hall was hung with shadows, but wan light rose along the stairwell from the foyer below. On her way from the kitchen to her bedroom, she had not paused to switch off the lights.

On her way down the stairs, she thought of her dream. The dialogue had been just as it had been ten years ago, and the scenes had felt chillingly real. But what in the world had dream-Eddie meant when he had said, _"Did you know that he killed me?"_

At the foot of the stairs she stopped, listening. The silence in the house was almost deafening. Her thirst growing more acute by the second, she wasted no more time and slipped gracefully into the lit kitchen, turning the light off as she entered. The porch lights outside the window were enough for her to navigate.

She took a can of Pepsi from the fridge, popped the tab, tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and took a long drink.

It didn't taste like cola. It tasted sharp, bitter, and it burned the back of Laura's throat. Frowning, she opened her eyes and looked down at the can, only to find that it wasn't a can at all. It was a bottle of beer, a Corona. James didn't drink Corona. When James had a beer, which was rarely these days, it was a Heineken. Half of one, at that.

Fear lanced through Laura's body, a fear that she could not justify. Then, abruptly, an image flashed in her mind, an image that chilled the marrow in her bones. It was James's body, covered in blood. He was unmistakably dead. His throat had been slit several times. He stared out at Laura through those dead eyes, crying for help…

"No…" Laura managed, but it came out in nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

The image disappeared. Laura shook the aftereffects, shuddering uncontrollably. Jesus, that dream had really gotten to her.

Then, to further her uncertainty, she noticed that the tile floor of the kitchen was gone. She was standing barefoot on gravel. The stones cut into the balls of her feet. Her heart began to race. She looked around the kitchen with a desperate need to reaffirm that she was in her own house, that the world had not just shifted into some alternate reality. Her eyes traveled over the familiar white washed birched cabinets, the dark granite countertops, the dishwasher, the gleaming face of the built-in microwave, and she willed the oncoming nightmare to recede. But the gravel beneath her feet remained. She was still holding the Corona in her right hand. She turned towards the sink with the intent of draining the bottle and then washing her face with cold water, but the sink was no longer there. One half of the entire kitchen had vanished. She saw a highway. And then--

--she was not in her kitchen at all. She was standing on a vaguely familiar road some 400 miles away. In front of her loomed a massive building. A sign above the door read _Brookhaven Hospital_. The sky behind it was as dark as the pavement she now stood on. The hospital, from the outside look of it, was in complete disarray. This was not how she remembered it. This was wrong. What was going on?

"Hello?" she asked, her voice shaky. She turned in a circle. She was seemingly alone. The streets were bare, save for a few leaves and twigs. And then she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She spun on her feet, which was when she realized that she was no longer barefoot but wearing her rubber-soled black Rockports. She looked up. There, standing but thirty feet away, stood an ambling creature, walking slowly towards her. She thought of the Boogeyman underneath her eight-year-old self's bed.

"This is just a dream," she told herself. "I'm still asleep."

It was a nightmare. Unsheathing themselves from the fog and shadows behind the first creature, ten or eleven more joined in on the advance.

"Holy shit," Laura whispered, closing her eyes, refusing to look. "This is just a dream. It's only a dream."

The creatures in front of her simultaneously let out a screeching wail. Laura covered her ears, eyes still closed. She was screaming now. "I'm dreaming! I'm dreaming! It's just a dream, it's just a--"

--she gasped as cold Pepsi foamed from the dropped can and puddled around her bare feet. The gravel and pavement had disappeared, along with the hospital and the fleet of monsters. A spreading pool of cola glistened on the peach-colored Santa Fe tiles of the kitchen floor.


	2. Chapter 2: Laura's Prospect

Chapter Two

Laura's Prospect

Laura cleaned up the spilled Pepsi with paper towels. By the time she was at the kitchen sink, to wash her hands, she was still shaking but not as badly as she had been. Terror, which had been briefly all-consuming, not made a bit of room inside of her rattled mind for curiosity. She reluctantly touched the rim of the stainless steel sink and then the faucet, as if they might dissolve beneath her fingers.

She turned on the water, adjusted hot and cold, and scrubbed at her fingers. She scrubbed as if to rid dirt and grim, though she had taken a thirty minute shower earlier that night. The water felt good against her clammy skin.

She looked up at the window above the sink, which faced onto the rear yard. The yard was gone. A highway lay in its place. The kitchen window had become elongated and dirty, caked with a decade of filth. She could just barely make out the activities beyond the window. Swaddled in fog and only partially revealed by the gray sky was the army of demons she had encountered only moments before. Yet this time she was protected, safe inside Brookhaven Hospital. She sensed a presence beside her where there should have been nothing but the double ovens. When she turned her head she saw a dark-headed youth sitting on a comfy-looking armchair. He was staring past her, out the window. He had a watch in his hand, looking down at it every few seconds.

"Hello?" Laura said, confused. She was worried as to the reason why he would not acknowledge her presence. Perhaps, she thought, he could not see or hear her.

"It's almost time," he said, and it sounded as though he were repeating the phrase, mocking it. "Laura, Laura, Laura," he said in a sing song voice. "When _will_ you come to Silent Hill?"

"I'm right here!" Laura said, waving her hand in his face. He did not respond.

"How do you know my name?" she asked him, though she didn't expect an answer, and just as she had expected, she didn't get one.

"Time is drawing near," the boy said to himself.

"What are you waiting for?!" Laura tried, yelling the question at the top of her lungs. She bent down and looked into the stranger's eyes. They were peculiar, troubles. Then--

--Laura was standing at the kitchen sink again, breathing hard. She was eye level with the water taps, as though they had moments ago been the eyes of the boy sitting in Silent Hill waiting for her. Beyond the windows, she noticed as she stood straight up, lay only the back yard, blanketed by the night.

"Laura?"

Startled, she turned.

James was standing in the doorway, clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

Wiping her sweaty hands on her sweatshirt, she tried to answer, but terror had rendered her mute.

James hurried towards her. "Laura?"

x-x-x-x-x-x

Laura sat at the kitchen table for the second time that night, again in the company of James. She was shaking, an early morning wreck, as she told James her accounts of what had happened, beginning with the strange dream and ending with her creepy visions of Brookhaven Hospital. She left out, of course, the monsters and the one vision where she had seen James as he lay dead against a backdrop that she hadn't recognized. After all, she was looking at him now, and he was alive and well. She didn't want to seem paranoid or anything.

At her request, James brewed a pot of coffee. The familiarity of the delicious aroma acted as an antidote to Laura's fear. They drank the coffee in the hours left of night. Laura was transformed into a smooth sailor, though the weirdness of it all still clung to her senses like shoes stuck in mud. She couldn't shake the curiosity, as much as she wanted.

James had only one, very narrow minded, explanation to offer. "No matter how it seemed at the time, you must not have been fully awake when you got out of bed. You were sleepwalking. You didn't really wake up until I came into the kitchen and called your name."

"I've never been a sleepwalker," Laura retorted.

He tried to make light of her objection. "Never too late to take up a new affliction."

"I don't buy it."

"Then what's your explanation?"

"I don't have one."

"Sleepwalking, then," James said smugly.

She stared down into the white porcelain cup that she clasped in both hands, as if she were a Gypsy trying to foresee the future in the patterns of light on the surface of the black brew. Had she seen the future?

Time elapsed. James returned to his bedroom shortly after three, hoping to get just a few more hours of sleep in before the sun came up. Laura could not fall back asleep. She knew that even before she tried. So she stayed up the rest of the morning, smoking cigarettes on her bed and watching Rosanne reruns on her small television. With the lights on, she could relax, she could_ enjoy_ her cigarettes and her beloved Rosanne. She was calm, and for the time being, forgot about all of the strange things that she had seen that night. She finally fell asleep at seven, and was thankfully undisturbed by the ghosts of her past.


	3. Chapter 3: The Planning

Chapter Three

The Planning

Something was wrong. He had expected Laura would be here by now. He looked down at his watch. It was a quarter past one o'clock, the following day. Had things gone awry? Had he failed to protect her? The clock was ticking, and he was seeing red.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Little did James know, Laura was planning a trip. she had been deep in thought all day long, and had suddenly felt a strong pull. She had to go to Silent Hill. She feared for James's life. She didn't know why, but she couldn't just ignore it, the feeling was so strong. She would leave under the blanket of night and find the answers there.

x-x-x-x-x-x

She didn't pack much. She used her knapsack that had so well served her through her last year of high school to store an extra change of clothes, a flashlight, and her prized charm bracelet that she was sentimentally attached to but by tenth grade had refused to wear. James had given it to her almost a month after he had brought her home with him to raise. He said it had been Mary's. Should she break it, or should anything else happen to it, she would be devastated. It had been sitting in her jewelry box for almost three years, safe.

She had dinner with James at a nearby McDonald's. She didn't talk much and he had asked her what was bothering her.

"Nothing," she had answered. "I'm just really tired."

The short ride home with unnaturally quiet as well. Laura checked the gas guage as James drove. Thankfully, the tank was full. It was then that Laura conspired that she would have to take the car to Silent Hill. Walking would take a week or more. She didn't feel as though she had that kind of time to spare. No, she would drive, and she would get there within three hours.

It was nine before they got home. Around midnight, Laura double checked the contents of her knapsack while James watched Conan O'Brian on the living room television. She hoped that he would go to bed soon. If she was going, she needed to do it within the hour. She was beginning to have doubts. The events from the night before seemed so far away, so insignificant.

She searched her bedroom, looking for anything else that would come in handy during her excursion. And then it hit her. She would need money, for gas, for provisions. She didn't know how long she would be gone, although she did know that it wouldn't be too long. The problem was that she had quit her dull job at Chic-a-Roc, a fastfood chicken eatery, shortly after graduating. She was penniless. For the first time since ten o'clock, she was grateful that James had not gone to bed yet. He had left his wallet on the dresser in his bedroom. She left the confines of her own and started for his.

She beratted herself as she opened his bedroom door. How could she take money from him? He had shown her nothing but unconditional love and support. Yet the conflict at hand was that she needed it. He would understand in due time, he always had before.

She strode up to the dresser. His leather wallet lay on its surface beside any age-old framed picture of Mary. Laura stared at the picture, at Mary's beautiful face, her eyes, her lips. Had Laura been the biological offspring of the beauty in the picture, she would have been a shade or two fairer complected, prettier even. Mary had been absolutely gorgeous. A deep longing ached inside of Laura as she stared at her could-have-been mother. How she wished, oh, how she wished...

Laura looked away, listening for any sounds of footsteps, and she was suddenly digging into James's wallet. She no longer heard Conan O'Brian's dumb joked leaking up the staircase. The television had been turned off. James would be upstairs soon.

Laura pulled out six twenty dollar bills. She put one back. One hundred dollars would be more than enough, she was sure. She quickly put the wallet back where she had found it, and turned to leave. James was standing in the doorway.

"Hey, Secret," he said, and Laura's heart skipped a beat. Did he know? He didn't seem mad. But did he know?

"Checking email?" he asked, and Laura nodded without hesitation. She felt the crisp twenties, fresh from the bank, against the palm of her right hand. She tried to keep them out of his sight.

"Are you not feeling well?" James asked, having developed an acute fear for sickness. "You haven't said much all day. You aren't brooding about last night, are you?" He secretly hoped that that was all it was.

"I'm fine. I'm just tired," she answered, just as she had at McDonald's, not knowing whether she sounded genuine or not. "Abby emailed," she lied. "She says Europe is beautiful."

James bought it, hook, line and sinker. "I'm sorry that you couldn't go with her," he said, shaking his head. "We just don't have the money." Laura felt horrible.

James waved his hand through the air as he settled himself into his computer chair. "Run off to bed," he told Laura. "You look like Death."

Laura laughed nervously at the joke. She bade him goodnight and left the room, feeling as horrible as ever. She was just outside her bedroom door when James yelled after her.

"Hey!" he called. Laura froze, the twenties now growing damp with sweat in her theiving hand. She turned, reluctantly, to look. James was grinning. "No more sleepwalking, hear me? I need my sleep, too!" he said, and laughed.

Laura sighed with tremendous relief, covering it up with a laugh of her own.

"'Night," James said, and disappeared back into his room, closing the door in his wake.

Laura sighed again, feeling troubled. She was not familiar with stealing. She would most definitely pay him back, and she wouldn't do this to him ever, ever again.

will update later


	4. Chapter 4: Taking the Leave

Chapter Four

Taking the Leave

Laura stood at her bedroom door, waiting. In the quiet of the house, she could hear the low whirring of James's processor next door as it read commands, and the faint tapping of keys on the keyboard as James typed. He would stay up late, she felt, and her spirits sank with every extra minute that passed.

It was 1 AM. She had to leave soon. She turned the car keys over in her hand. The keys had been easy to get to, as they had been left on the living room coffee table. Laura closed her eyes and left her bedroom. She would surely kill herself with all the guilt, but she felt as though she had no choice. No choice at all. It was just one of those callings.

Notifying James of her leave as she started the car and left the drive was a risk she had to take. Her eyes glued to the rearview mirror, she was relieved when she couldn't detect any lights suddenly thrown on in her home. The windows remained as dark as the sky above her.

All that was left was her, the highway, and the long drive to Silent Hill.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Laura drove quickly on east, determined to make it to Silent Hill by daybreak. It wouldn't be very long before James realized that she was gone, as he often wandered the house at night. What would he do?

Her cell began to ring at three, and there was no doubt in her mind whom the caller was. She didn't answer. She hit the ignore button, repeatedly, all the while keeping her eyes on the road ahead. A few moments of silence later, the phone rang again. Sedated, wishing she had just left it behind, she answered.

"What in the hell?" James demanded. He sounded angry, yet worried at the same time.

"It's okay. I'm fine," Laura told him, although she didn't really know that for a fact. Her going to Silent Hill felt forbidden, and Mary's voice of reason was telling her to turn back and leave Silent Hill for her childhood memories.

"No, it's not okay! What do you think you're doing?" he asked. "I wake up to find the car gone, and you with it! _No_, it's not okay!"

Laura didn't know whether to feel offended or elated. She decided not to press. She hung up, feeling depleted instead. The phone rang just seconds afterward. She answered, not really knowing why. She already knew what his defense would be.

"Just tell me what you're doing," James pleaded. "Don't you scare me like this!"

Laura took a deep breath, thinking of what she should say. He would go ballistic if he knew she were going to Silent Hill. His warm memories of the town had long since faded from him.

"I'll be back…tomorrow evening," she told him. "I'm okay, just please don't worry about me. I'm a grown woman now."

That was as good an explanation as any other. She listened as James listened, each of them hoping for more words of understanding from each other. Then, Laura heard a different voice in the background.

_James froze at the words a stranger spoke from behind him. The stranger's voice sounded full of angst, chilly._

Laura slowed to forty. She listened hard, pressing her phone so hard against her ear that it hurt. James didn't have any friends. He didn't have any family. Who else would be in the house? What was going on?

_James couldn't bring himself to look behind him. His heart thudded inside of his chest._

The voice said, "Your crimes have caught up with you, Sunderland."

Laura had pulled over onto the side of the road. She turned the car off, all the better to hear.

_James turned. He hardly recognized the face beneath the carefully drawn cloak. It had been so many years._

"Is everything okay?" Laura asked into the phone. No answer.

_James had screwed together what little courage he had left. He stood up from the kitchen table, the phone still in his hand. "What are you doing here?" he asked the man. "What do you want?"_

"Who is it?" Laura demanded. "James, _who is it_?"

"_You sound like you've been expecting this day to come, actually. Did you think it would be so soon?" the unidentified man asked. _

"_I've got a family now, you bastard!" James yelled._

Laura was between a rock and a hard spot. What had possessed her to leave her home on a night such as this? Was it meant to be this way? "James," she whispered into the phone.

"_Well, you had a family," said the man._

Laura could hear James crying. There were tears in her eyes, as well. "Leave him alone!" she said, now yelling and unable to quiet herself. "That's my father! Leave him alone!"

And then she heard the man speak again, and it was more loud and clear than anything else he had said. _"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."_

Laura was afflicted with the same vision she had seen the night before. James lay dead. The sight was unbearable. She closed her eyes, hoping to block it out. She heard a horrible noise coming from James. It wasn't a scream, wasn't words. Just a guttural slur, and she knew right then what had happened, when she heard the phone drop to the linoleum below his buckling legs.

Laura screamed, a furious and angry scream. She heard the distinct sound of the phone being picked up, then breathing, as though Nameless had put it up to his ear.

"Who are you?" she demanded as hot tears fell from her eyes. "Who the fuck are you? I'll kill you for this! I swear to God, I'll--"

_Click._

He had hung up.

"NO!" She slammed her hands down onto the steering wheel, cursing. She couldn't bear it, she had to think of something else, anything else. No, it couldn't be true. She slammed the gear into reverse then straight back into drive. She hit the breaks. Should she go back? Her shaking was uncontrollable. She couldn't keep her hands still. She was merely prolonging the inevitable.

_The only thing left behind is a dead body._

Her voice of reason could not help her. She was on her own. She would run. She would go to Silent Hill.

She dialed 911.

"_Ashflat Police Department," _issued a cool female voice from the end of the line.

"I need to speak to an officer, please," Laura said, finally drained of all emotion.

"_Could I please take your name--"_

"Just get me an officer on the line."

"_Ma'am, I'm sorry, but in order to refer an officer, I must have a name."_

Laura was at the end of her rope. "Put a damn officer on the line or I'm hanging up."

"_One moment, ma'am," _said the voice, giving in.

Laura waited, no longer crying, no longer feeling much of anything. Her shaking had subsided. She was utterly confused, however. The visions had meant something, there was no denying that now. Was there something awful waiting for her in that distant town? Would she meet a similar fate? The stranger on the phone had mentioned James's crimes. Surely he had been talking about Mary's murder. But how many people actually knew about that? She had been under the impression that it was only she, but obviously, she was mistaken.

"_This is Officer Corby. What seems to be the problem?"_

Laura snapped out of her fugue. She was surprised at the indifference in her voice as she spoke to the Officer. "18 Dean Lane. There's been a murder."

"_Ma'am--"_

Laura hung up. What was the point in taking names?

She placed her hands on the steering wheel and steered the car back onto the road. At first she drove slow. She let her tears fall as they came, but she did not sob. She had to focus. It was important.

"Focus," she whispered to herself.

The drive was dull, so she picked up speed. She drove recklessly around the curves of the road at dangerous speeds. What did it matter? She had been an orphan with a unclear past before James, and now, she realized with a strangled sob, an orphan again. She could fall off the face of the earth and nobody would know. Was it selfish that she wanted to die because of her pain? She would find out, soon enough she knew, as she let go of the steering wheel and allowed the vehicle itself take control of her ultimate destiny. She closed her eyes


End file.
